


Waxen

by xDemon_Talex



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 10:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xDemon_Talex/pseuds/xDemon_Talex
Summary: When Karkat shuts down after being betrayed by Gamzee, John is there to get him back on his feet.





	Waxen

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short piece I wrote for fun when my wifi was down for a couple of hours. Just so there's no confusion, this takes place in a universe where none of the trolls were killed and all of the humans managed to get themselves onto the meteor after the scratch. Is that actually possible? No way. But I'm the writer, so logic and reason will bend beneath my keyboard.
> 
> Enjoy!

A long time ago, someone told you something rather interesting.

"Did you know?" they'd said, and you think you remember that they were grinning as they said it. "There's this myth that if you sit down at a desk and put a piece of paper in front of you, then just pick up a pen and start writing, you'll eventually start to spill out your innermost thoughts and fears without ever being conscious of doing it! It doesn't happen immediately, though. You just kind of have to keep your hand moving through everything, and eventually,  _eventually_ you'll begin to form words you had no intention of forming. Pretty cool, huh? I think it's a really great way of figuring out what you're really thinking when your conscious mind is keeping you from seeing the truth."

It was a cute concept, but there was no way it would actually work. You'd always been up front with yourself about your emotions, anyway, so what the fuck did you have to gain from sitting down and dragging a pen across a sheet of paper for half a perigee? It was ridiculous. Completely absurd. Honestly, you don't even remember who told you about it originally. A human, probably—they were always running around spouting off ridiculously optimistic bullshit like that.

But you'll get to more of that later. For now, you're thinking about the humans—and honestly, they all seem happy now. Or at least, the happiest they can be considering that they're all trapped on a meteor screeching towards the unknown. Rose has Kanaya, Jade is running around with Nepeta, Dave's apparently taken a liking to Eridan, and John…well, John's latched on to  _you._  Not in a red way, dear god no, but just…like…in a way that's unique to John. He follows you around and bugs you and pokes at your sides teasingly while you're just trying to get shit done on your husktop in the main room, and  _goddamn_ he's the most annoying thing that's ever happened to you.

But…it's also a little nice, you think. Back on Alternia you didn't have anyone that treats you like he does, mostly because you can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times you actually got to meet your friends in person instead of just shooting them long, rambling walls of gray font via chat client. It wasn't  _possible_ for anyone to run after you and antagonize you with little puffs of air and soft brushes of fingers over your horns when you weren't paying attention. Even in the game, the situation with Terezi hadn't been like this. She'd never paid you as much attention as the human Heir did.

You're pretty sure that isn't really important right now, though. Right now you're sitting in the main room of the lab, the one filled to the brim with broken husktops and infuriating assholes, and all that's important is swatting Dave off as he flicks computer keys at you one by one. You're trying to get some work done (and by work you mean screaming at Sollux via trollian) but he just won't leave you alone and you've  _had it._

"Will you fucking  _leave me the fuck alone?"_ you snarl, finally cracking the way he's been waiting for and swinging around in your chair to glare at him.

He pauses. Stares at you. Flicks another key so that it smacks you right on the left horn.

_"Strider—!"_

"Chill," he drawls in that thin Texan accent. "I'm just having a bit of fun, Karkles, you shouldn't be so goddamn  _touchy_. Relax a little, pull that stick a few inches out of your ass."

"And what, let you keep chucking shit at my head?"

He throws what looks like an enter key at your face. "For a start. After that you could go fetch me something to drink. I'm really feelin' some AJ right now, you know?"

You hate him. You stare at his ridiculous shades and his shitty blond hair and his stupid cape, and you hate him so much you want to scream. It's the worst kind of caliginous infidelity. Sollux would be fucking pissed.

Dave must notice your vicious glare, because he says, "What, not feeling it? Come on, Karks, I know you can do better than that! You gonna throw a punch or not?"

You bare your teeth. "I'm not your fucking kismesis!" Anger is churning low in your gut, frustration crackling at your horntips as you reach out and shoot Sollux a message asking him to hang on for a few minutes. "Stop trying to pick fights with me!"

"Don't have to be in hatelove to have a good wrestling match," Dave jibes. "Right, Rezi?"

You hear her cackle. "Dunno, coolkid, that looks pretty black to me. Sure you wanna keep needling him like that? He's bound to snap eventually, and then I'm pretty sure it's  _Sollux_ you'll be fending off."

Dave shrugs. "The dude with the sparkly horns? Pretty sure I can take him."

"You could  _not_ ," you snap furiously, because that's your fucking  _kismesis_ he's talking about and you're going to rip his throat out if he lets so much as another word slip from that festering squawk blister of his.

"Careful, Karkat," comes a gentle murmur from your left. It's Kanaya, shooting you a subtle glance that radiates as pale as it always has. She's not your moirail, just like Dave isn't your kismesis, but she's your friend and you respect her to no end. She doesn't have to say anything else for you to know what she's warning you about—slipping into a fight with Dave that will end in a shattered black quadrant.

_Be our auspistice,_ you'd say if you were crazy. If it were a  _troll_  flicking keys at you, you don't think you'd hesitate. But this is a human, pale and weak and squishy and hornless and just…just  _pathetic,_ and on top of all that it's  _Dave._ Dave Strider, asshole extraordinaire, who wouldn't understand ashen romance if it smacked him on the ass. What the fuck ever.

Dave is flicking stuff at you again.

"Can you  _stop?"_  you hiss.

"Bite me."

"I fucking  _will_ if you don't stop; I'll tear your goddamn throat out!"

He hums, "You do that." Spreads his arms out to either side of him as if in invitation. He must be amazingly bored to be doing this, you think.

You're really going to do it, too. You're about to snap up out of your computer chair like a spring and knock him right upside his gross, hornless head. You're going to fall on him like a wild animal and rake your claws down his chest and up to his throat and slash him to ribbons until there's not even enough of him left to hold a corpse party for. The beginnings of a caliginous growl have just started up in your throat when the door swings open, and in walks probably the one person that knows how to keep Dave in check.

"Hey, guys!" chirps a familiar voice. "Wow, is it afternoon already? I just woke up!"

Dave stops immediately and turns his full attention onto John.  _Fucking ridiculous._ You're pretty sure that he's waxing red for the guy, but John "I am not a Homosexual" Egbert would never look at him twice in  _any_  shade of red.

_Serves you right,_ you think, turning back to your abandoned conversation with Sollux. He's been waiting long enough.

"Karkat!"

…Or he can wait a moment longer, because John is flying right over to you and hovering a few inches in the air like a weird, excited barkbeast that's somehow gained the ability to fly. You catch a jealous expression from Dave, and you shoot him a bitingly smug glance before you look up at John. "Egbert," you greet. You keep your voice as rough as always, but you know that there's just a hint of softness behind it. You really like John. A lot. So much that it confuses you.

"Karkat," John repeats with a grin. "I feel like I haven't seen you in  _ages!"_

"It's been less than a day, fuckass," you snip back at him. John  _always_ says it's been forever, even if you've only been apart for a few minutes. He's ridiculous that way. "Why are you even here? Trying to drive me out of my pan before Dave does?"

John looks over at Dave. "What? Dave! Have you been fighting with Karkat again?"

Dave gives the most innocent gasp you've ever heard out of a guilty man. "Me? Fight with Karkat? Come on, Egderp, you know me better than that!"

"Aw, man, you  _have_  been fighting!" John bats at Dave's shoulder with a hint of irritation. "Come on, can't you leave him alone?"

"Hey, he—"

"He did  _not_  start it, and you know it! Dave, just…" John waves his hands in frustration. Turns to you. "Karkat, he didn't do anything too bad, right?"

You barely conceal a sneer as you respond, "No, he's been  _perfectly_ fucking civil, throwing things at me from all the way across the room and interrupting my conversations."

John turns to glare at Dave. You shoot the Knight a victorious leer.  _Your move, Strider._

But Dave just glowers at you without another word and steps back. He's apparently lost interest in this game, brows drawing inwards in frustration as he realizes that John's going to block any attempts at antagonizing those around him from here on out. "Fine," he sighs, "you're right, John. I acknowledge the error of my ways and hereby swear not to lay another hand on Vantas." But you know that his eyes, if they were visible, would be telling a very different story. They'd be narrowed with fury and shimmering with the purest caliginous loathing.

_Not my kismesis,_ you have to remind yourself as Dave says something else to John and finally stalks out of the room with his shoulders hitched high.  _Fuck, get yourself together._

"…you?"

You realize suddenly that John's talking to you. "What?"

"I asked how you were doing, that's all! You and Dave are always at each other's throats—or I guess,  _he's_  always at  _your_  throat? And I was worried that maybe he'd finally pushed you over the edge or something."

Kanaya is looking at you again. Just out of the corner of her eye, but she's still doing it, and yet again she's warning you. Warning you that pale infidelity is just as bad, even if your moirail is a shitty excuse for a clown that's never actually managed to shooshpap you a single time while you were in one of your rages, and John's questions are bordering on dangerous territory without him even knowing.

"Karkat?"

"I'm fine," you say quickly. "Don't worry so much, shithead, I've dealt with assholes like him my whole life. I can handle Dave; you don't need to go barging in every time you think he's causing me trouble!" You realize as you say it that it's true. John is  _always_ there right after Dave starts kicking at you, like the sound of your think pan snapping is some kind of Egbert magnet that draws him in and drags his hand right up to swat Dave away like a pesky fly. It's convenient, seeing as John is the only one he'll listen to and you really would rather not cause quadrant drama with anyone, but you hadn't realized  _how much_  John was there until you yourself pointed it out.

"You sure?" John presses. "You seem really high strung lately! If there's anything you need to talk about, or…?"

…And there's that  _look_ , the one that's so full of concern that it nearly pushes you over the edge in the other direction. He always gives you that look, and you've never been able to make sense of it. It's pale but not, and he's a  _human_ so he doesn't even know what pale  _means._

John seems to take your silence as refusal. He deflates far too much for someone being brushed off by a casual friend, sighing, "Well, if you change your mind, I'm right here," as if that alone could fix everything.

You shove at him without any real force behind it. "Fuck you, you don't need to sit here and  _watch over me_  like a creep! Go do something else and I'll come to you  _only_  if I need to."

"Aww, but Karkat!"

"No buts! Get out of here!" You shove him a bit harder.

John gives you barkbeast eyes fit to rival the real thing. "Well…okay, I  _guess_ …" He drifts up and flutters back a few inches and hesitates, making sure you actually mean that you want him to leave. You don't, really, but showing emotional vulnerability isn't something you've ever been comfortable with. Especially not in public, where more and more of the surrounding trolls have started shooting you knowing glances. Such a public display of pale concern on John's behalf, especially when you already have a moirail, isn't something that's smiled upon in troll culture. They all know what's going on, and  _you_  know what's going on, but John is oblivious.

When you look up, John is just disappearing with a last wave in your direction. The instant he's out of earshot Terezi is jabbing you in the side with a cackle and Kanaya is shaking her head and Nepeta is squealing from the corner, and you know immediately that you're fucked.

"Ooooh, Karkitty!" Nepeta giggles. "Do I need to update my waaaallll?"

"Fuck no!" you snap. "Gamzee is my moirail, not him!"

"Reeeeaaaalllly?" Nepeta presses with a bright chirp. "What was it he said?  _If there's anything you need to talk about, I'm here?_ Sounds purretty pale to me!"

"Was not!" you protest automatically. "I told you,  _Gamzee—"_

Well…Gamzee was a shit moirail, but that was beside the point. This isn't a matter of whether your moirail is good or not, but of whether or not you have one. And you do. Have one. You have a moirail.

"Just be careful," Kanaya advises softly. "Don't do anything you'll regret later."

"What the fuck could I  _possibly_  do that I'd regret?"

She offers you a light shrug. Says nothing.

"Well, thanks for the fucking support!" You get to your feet with a huff. You're tired from a poor night of sleep and frustrated from your bickering with Dave and confused about what it is that's going on with John, and you just need to leave for a while.

Kanaya clears her throat and speaks again. "Maybe you should go see Gamzee."

Yes—that's it! God bless the beautiful creature that is Kanaya Maryam, that is  _exactly_ what you need. You need to go see Gamzee and vent about Dave and maybe huddle up on his shitty pile of horns and get some rest, and maybe you can talk about John and what he's supposed to be to you. Because it's not a moirail, so what else is it supposed to be? Humans apparently just have friends that they treat with absurdly pale kindness, so maybe that's it?

"Karkat," Kanaya urges, and you realize you've been staring into space for several minutes. "Go."

You jolt back to life. You fire off a message to Sollux and apologize for the delay, explaining that you need to go hash a few things out with your moirail, and then you shut off your computer and leave the room.

†††

…You don't really end up going to Gamzee right away. First you walk around in the deepest bowels of the lab and just sort of wait, kicking at the ground with the scuffed toes of your shoes and sighing at the gray walls that are just a little darker than your skin and scoring your clawtips across any unfortunate machinery you happen upon. Then you go back to your section of the lab and clean your respiteblock up. You're going to need a place to jam with Gamzee, and since his block is a reckless spattering of Faygo bottles and shitty horns, you think you'll gladly nominate yours instead. Your pile of t-shirts, DVD cases, and loose blankets will be a lot more comfortable than laying all over sharp points that wheeze out dying honks whenever they're compressed the wrong way.

Your pile is, uh…a  _bit_  messy.  _Maybe_. Like you mentioned, Gamzee isn't the best moirail and you don't really end up jamming as often as you probably should. Well, that's not entirely accurate—Gamzee is more than willing to grab you and pull you off into his respiteblock, but when it comes to getting  _him_ to give  _you_  a bit of support he's normally off in Faygo wonderland. So, you haven't really used your pile in a while. You have to shovel up the scattered bits and pieces and shove them together in the middle of the room. It'll do.

After that, you sit there. It's not that you're hesitating, really, it's just…

Okay. You're hesitating. It's been at least two hours since you promised to go speak with Gamzee, and you haven't made a single move to go find him.

You suck in a deep breath and hold it there, low in your chest, until you're forced to release it in a whoosh. You're standing by the door without remembering having moved there, and your hand moves to the doorknob and swings the thing open with a push. You, right now, are going to see your moirail.

Right now.

Right the fuck now.

Okay. You're going.

You step out into the hall and start walking. The lab is set up rather oddly, with the entirety of the place divided up into twelve sections and various snippets of neutral space that have been claimed by the humans. There are teleporters on the roof that will take only those with the right sign to their own area of the lab, but you know that those teleporters aren't the only way to get around. It's convenient, sure, to be able to just zip on over to the right area without having to walk far. But there are other ways to get places, seeing as everything  _is_  technically connected by a series of winding pathways, and you know the fastest hallways to take in order to deliver you right into your moirail's arms. It's not too much of a walk; his section is right next to yours. Sollux's is to your other side. You guess it's pretty convenient that both your filled quadrants live right next to you.

You duck into a side passage right off the entrance to your respiteblock and slip into a long, narrow hallway that doesn't have much space for maneuvering. You'll go down this path, take a left near the end when it splits off into two, then follow that passage straight ahead until you have to jump up into the air ducts at the dead end. Then you'll take the first right, the second left, the first right again, and crawl straight until you reach the grate that leads right into Gamzee's respiteblock. You'll be there in five minutes.

You don't let him know you're coming. What the fuck could  _Gamzee_ be doing that would have him out of his respiteblock with his hands devoid of Faygo bottles? Absolutely nothing, that's what. It's not like he has other quadrants to maintain. It's just you. You're the only one crazy enough to fall in with him.

You curve along the passage. Turn left.

It's not that you're not  _pale_ for Gamzee. You are, really! It's just that lately you've really been feeling his absence and the way he's never really lucid enough to help you out, and with Dave's constant pestering and John's…John's  _whatever,_ you've been a little confused. If you've ever needed a moirail, now's the time.

You stop when you see the grate that will let you climb up into the air ducts. A little dirty and a lot cramped, but it's the fastest way. You reach up and grab at the thing, pull it open, having to stand on your tiptoes the whole time. You're barely tall enough to grab the lip and haul yourself up, but soon enough your whole body is folded up inside the narrow tunnel meant to carry air throughout the lab. The grate is latched back into place and you slide along the corridor. Right. Left. Right. Straight.

You can see the grate that will drop you into Gamzee's respiteblock. It's maybe ten feet ahead, and you slide a little closer.

Then you pause. What…?

You cock your head and stop moving so you can hear better.

…There. There it was again. A soft, almost wet sound, a tiny pop at the end. Endlessly repeating in different variances, different lengths, different intensities. It happens again, and again, and your muscles lock up.

You  _know_ that sound, know it from every romcom you've ever watched. It's a kiss. Some unfortunate pair of trolls are fucking  _making out_ in Gamzee's respiteblock, and you know that Gamzee doesn't have any concupiscent partners so you have no idea who it could possibly be.

There's a soft snarl, then an answering laugh. It's muted through the grate and through the metal that makes up the duct, so you can't hear it that clearly. You think that the snarl belonged to a male, though, and that the laugh belonged to a female. You should probably leave, but if two assholes are using Gamzee's respiteblock without his knowledge for  _this,_ then it's pretty much your obligation to charge in out of nowhere and slap some sense into them until they got  _out_ of your moirail's space.

So. You pull yourself the last few feet to the grate. You're just about to push in the grate and kick a couple of morons upside the head when you accidentally glance through the thing and into the room, and…well…

It's Gamzee. It's Gamzee, crouching over someone you can't see properly and sealing his teeth viciously to their neck. There's a soft, feminine whine, and you know it has to be Vriska. It has to be. What other troll girl would he be going after for his black quadrant? It absolutely has to be Vriska.

_It has to be._

There's this sneaking suspicion in the back of your think pan, though, a tiny, niggling doubt that's managed to wind its way up behind your eyes and lap at the sockets, and you lean forward. Later you'll feel like a perv for peeping at your moirail and his partner (who he should have fucking  _told_ you about, what the  _fuck)_ , but now you need to  _know_. You practically mush your face against the grate in an attempt to get a glimpse of a sign, a pair of horns, a face, any defining characteristic. You scour the block for Vriska's blue symbol. For her sloping horns.

That's not what you see.

What you see, staring in horror at the scene before you, is a pair of relatively short, cone-shaped horns.

_No._ You saw wrong. You didn't just see that.

You squint, and several things happen at once. First Gamzee shifts, and you get another look at a pair of horns that haven't changed at all in the past ten seconds. Then the juggalo pulls back, arms braced at either side of his partner, and you get an eyeful of a horribly familiar teal symbol and a pair of sharp red shades. And finally,  _finally_ , you hear a hauntingly familiar voice shriek out a laugh as its owner takes her hands to Gamzee's hair and yanks.

It's Terezi.

For a moment, all you can see is that teal symbol. It's…it's  _Terezi,_ it's  _her,_ and…and it's just  _so wrong_ and you don't know how to react. You'd  _wanted_  Terezi, you  _still_  want her, Gamzee  _knows_  that. You've told him a thousand times about how you weren't sure if you wanted her red or black (until Sollux came along and fixed that problem), and the asshole had just nodded and smiled and let you ramble yourself to sleep without  _ever_ letting on that this was a thing. When had this become a thing? Why hadn't Gamzee  _told_ you? Were you his moirail or not? He was supposed to tell you fucking  _everything_  about him, about his quadrants and his fears and his hopes and his aspirations, and apparently you know  _fuck all_ about him.

You don't know who your moirail is. You don't know him.

"Hey, stop that!" Terezi shrieks with laughter, and you jerk your face away from the vent before you can see what Gamzee's doing to make her titter like that. "Come on, you  _know_ Karkat's probably going to burst in here soon wanting to talk to you; it's a miracle that he hasn't shown up already! What's he going to think if he finds out?"

Gamzee hums. "It'll be all sorts of motherfucking fine, sister. He never needs to get his know on about this."

You feel sick.

"Still, we should—"

"We got a few minutes," Gamzee tells her in a low rumble. Terezi tries to say something else, but her voice breaks off into a yelp as Gamzee presumably bites her again, or rakes his claws down her sides, or does  _something_ that makes your stomach roll beneath your skin.

You've seen enough. You've  _heard_  enough.

You shove yourself back so hard you're surprised they don't hear you. You scramble back through the vents—or at least you  _think_ you do, because the whole time you're too busy having a full-blown mental breakdown to really pay attention to what your body is doing.

Gamzee is. He's just. He's your  _moirail._ He's supposed to tell you everything that happens to him, to confide in you and not feel like he needs to hide anything, and…and he just  _lied_ to you, lied to your face about his crazy thing with Terezi that's obviously been going on for far too long. He lied to you. Your moirail lied to you. He didn't trust you to be able to deal with the fact that he was quadranted with Terezi.  _He. Didn't. Trust. You._

You kick open the grate and fall down into the corridor that will take you back to your respiteblock. You feel like your think pan is too big for your head and your blood pusher is pounding out of your chest and your whole body just feels  _wrong,_ and everything about Dave and about John just feels so far away that you can't even spare the thinkmatter to consider it as you tear back towards the safety of your block.

You're hurting. You're hurting and you need to curl up on a pile and talk about it, you need to cry on someone's shoulder and scream and beat your fists on their chest, and you  _can't._ You have a moirail but he's useless to you, you have a kismesis but he'd never accept your weakness. You've never felt as alone as you do now.

You open the door to your respiteblock and step inside. You see the pile. You see the pile you were supposed to share with Gamzee.

Immediately, you flip your shit.

You don't really remember what happens next. All you know is that you're moving, you're storming through the door and kicking and shouting and grabbing onto the various items that make up the pile and throwing them this way and that, shuffling your feet through the remains and trampling the shirts and the DVD cases and flinging the blankets up onto the bed. When you finally step back your chest is heaving, your eyes are damp, and your room looks like someone came through it with a weed wacker. You're a mess. Your block is a mess.

And when someone breaths out a shaky, "Geez…" from the doorway, you barely stop yourself from turning and attacking him as well.

"What are you doing here?" you bite out furiously, whipping around to glare at the human standing in the doorway.

"I just…" John takes a step back. He looks scared. "I just thought that maybe you'd be back in your room by now, since it's getting late, and I was going to ask if you wanted to watch a movie."

Damn him.  _Damn_ him for being  _so fucking considerate_ and chasing after you every chance he gets. Damn him, and damn you for ever showing him how to get to your room from his.

"Karkat?" John asks nervously. He's wringing his hands, inching a little further into the doorway. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

You stare at him. You stare at his eyes, which are blown wide with obvious concern, and you stare at his lips, which are quivering with concern, and you stare at his stupid dumb hair that flips up at the ends like something out of a cartoon. You stare.

And. You can't deal with it.

"Get out," you rasp. You need to talk to someone. You really do. But…not him. Not one of the people you're confused about.

"What?" John yelps, alarmed.

"Get out," you repeat. Your voice is low and rasping, dangerous.

"Karkat, I really think—"

_"Get out!"_ you screech furiously. "Get the fuck out, John, get the fuck out  _right now!"_

He recoils with a hurt expression. Holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay! Just…if you need me…"

Your blood pusher shatters. You want him, suddenly. You want to latch onto him and pull him close and cry about everything that's just happened. But you  _can't._ Humans don't understand pale romance the way trolls do, and you don't think you can handle another disappointment tonight.

"Leave," you tell him in a low rasp. "Please, John. Now."

His expression floods with relief as he understands that you're not really mad at  _him_. He gives you a single nod, reaches out and pats your shoulder (which just makes things more confusing for you), then turns and vanishes in a puff of breath.

You're alone.

You close the door behind John and turn back to your wrecked respiteblock. As an afterthought, you click the lock. If Gamzee comes looking for you (he won't) or if Sollux decides that he's in a particularly caliginous mood (he won't) then you don't want to be disturbed.

Right now you just need to collapse onto your sleep slat and cry.

†††

Your name is John Egbert, and you're really worried about your friend.

It's been about a week since you accidentally walked in while Karkat was destroying his bedroom with tears in his eyes, and he seems really torn up about it. He's been showing up in the common room less and less often, choosing to barricade himself inside his bedroom whenever possible, and you can count on the fingers of one hand the conversations you've managed to have with him in the past few days.

You're  _really_ worried. You aren't sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way you just started to really like him. It's not romantic, though! You're not gay. Heh. Nope. But Karkat is just so…so  _Karkat,_ which probably doesn't make any sense, but it's true. You care about the little guy more than you've cared about anyone in a long time, and you hate that you can't make him see that. Every time you've tried to talk to him since the incident he's been guarded and standoffish and generally unwilling to give you the time of day. It's obvious he's conflicted—every time you try to start a conversation he gives you this  _look,_ like you're tearing his heart out through his chest and stomping all over it—but every time he just ends up brushing you off and running away.

You feel really confused. All you want is to make Karkat feel good about himself! You want to hug him real tight and tell him that everything is okay, and it goes beyond friendship but it's really not romantic, and you have no clue what to make of it.

So! When confused, go see Rose.

"John," she greets you when you show up in her room one day. Kanaya is there too, sitting with her at the table with a game of checkers spread out between them. You have no clue how they managed to get their hands on it. "It's good to see you."

"Hey, guys," you say awkwardly. You wave at Kanaya and she dips her head to you.

Rose pats the seat beside her. "Come on, sit down and tell me why you're here."

Of  _course_ she can sense something's wrong. You follow her instructions and say, "Thanks! I, uh, kind of have a problem I was hoping you could help me with."

"I'm sure," is the amused response. She moves a checker. "Kanaya, it's your move."

Kanaya reaches out and you start talking. "It's about Karkat."

"I suspected as much. Kanaya told me all about what happened in the common room a week ago."

"Huh?" You frown, confused. "What happened a week ago?"

She arches a brow at you. "Kanaya informed me that you were openly flirting with him."

"What?" you yelp. "Flirting? Me? With  _Karkat?_ Oh my god, no, you've got that so wrong! I don't like him like that! I'm—

"Not a homosexual," Rose finishes with a little sigh. "I'm aware, though I question the legitimacy of that claim when you're dealing with a species of which all members share all primary and most secondary sex characteristics."

You decide not to open that can of worms again; you've argued with Rose for  _years_ over this. "Look, I wasn't flirting!"

Rose rolls her eyes. "Very well. Let's assume that you weren't. What, then, is wrong with Karkat?"

"He's just…" You wave your hands around helplessly, and Rose tracks the movement with clinical curiosity. "Okay, fine! I accidentally walked in on him destroying his room, and he yelled at me, and now every time I try to talk to him he looks really upset and just brushes me off!"

"He was destroying his room?" Kanaya breaks in. Her eyes are just a little wide, just a little concerned.

"Well, not  _all_ of his room, just that weird heap of shirts and DVD cases he keeps in there for some reason. He was just kicking it apart and scattering everything everywhere, and I'm pretty sure he was crying a little while he was doing it."

Kanaya's ears prick up. "He destroyed his pile? Are you certain?"

"Pretty certain, yeah!"

"Hmm." She leans back with a thoughtful expression. Then, "He broke up with Gamzee."

"The clown?" you ask, at the same time Rose's eyes go wide and she whispers, "His moirail."

"Yes," Kanaya says to both of you. "Even if he has not yet formally addressed Gamzee over the matter, the act of tearing apart the pile built by you and your moirail signifies the ending of a pale relationship."

"Oh dear," Rose whispers. You stare in confusion. "Oh my. I wonder what happened."

Kanaya shakes her head. "I don't know. Whatever it is, though, it must have been serious. Karkat has put up with a lot from Gamzee, and if something has finally pushed him over the edge…"

"Is Gamzee a poor moirail?" Rose asks.

Kanaya's frustrated huff is the only answer you need. "I've never seen it in person, but I've always gotten the impression that he doesn't really care about Karkat in the way he should. He's a friend, but he's not a moirail."

"Moirail," you repeat, because you really need to know what that means before things get any more out of your league. "That's the…uh…romantic thing?"

"It's one of the quadrants," Rose confirms with a patient tilt of her head. "I've told you that before."

You whine, "Yeah, but it was confusing! I was tired!" Actually, you just hadn't really cared. It hadn't applied to you, hadn't been relevant, so you hadn't paid much attention.

"Fine." Rose draws away from the abandoned checkers game and crosses one leg over the other, folding her hands in her lap neatly. "I'll explain  _only_ the pale quadrant, seeing as that's what you're dealing with here. Think you can pay attention?"

You nod.

"Very well. Moirails in troll culture are beings that are supposed to placate each other, support each other through thick and thin, basically act as a safety net between them and the rest of the world. For reference, Equius and Nepeta are moirails."

You remember those two always hanging off of each other, and the concept clicks just a little in the back of your mind. You understand a bit more. "So it's like…being best friends?"

"Yes, but it's deeper than that. Trolls consider moirallegiance to be romantic, though humans like you and me would be more likely to think of it as a kind of friendship that transcends all else."

"It's romantic," you say slowly. "So, like…you kiss and all that?"

This time Kanaya is the one that answers you. "Certain pairs are known to kiss, but that is not the main focus. The main focus is more the platonic physical contact. How you say…" She clicks her fingers. "Cuddling."

"Cuddling."

She nods. "Moirails tend to build piles, which is where they spend time together and share their feelings with each other in feelings jams. It's the ultimate symbol of pale romance. So if Karkat has destroyed the pile he shared with Gamzee, his moirail, then it's obvious that he's broken up with him. That leaves him without a pale quadrant and without anyone to confide in."

Your heart throbs at the thought of Karkat being alone. Just hearing this makes you want to leap up and run to him and hug him and make sure he's not hurting.

Wait.

"Kanaya?" you ask, and your voice only cracks a little. "How do you know if you're…um, if you're…?"

She seems to understand. "I don't have a moirail, so I don't know the sensation of being in love in  _that_ quadrant exactly. But it's always described as the pure and unhindered desire to wrap the other troll up in your arms and protect them from the world at all costs. If you love someone as a palemate, all you'll want to do is talk them through their trauma and make sure they know that they're loved."

You draw in a shaky breath. "And that's romance? You're not supposed to feel, like…"

"No," she says, yet again managing to decode your garbled question. "You're not supposed to feel mating fondness for your moirail."

So. There's that.

Kanaya watches you. She seems to be waiting for you to realize something, say something, and when you don't she clears her throat and speaks. "John. Do you feel that way about Karkat?"

Rose's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline at the same moment that you start choking on air.

"John," Kanaya repeats. Her gaze is biting and intense. "John, tell me. It's very important that you're honest about this."

"I, uh…" You shoot a nervous glance at Rose. She'll tease you for this later, you're sure. "I just want to make sure he's okay? And, like…I can tell he's in pain over this so I want to make sure he's not suffering too badly, and I want to talk him through it and maybe give him a hug?"

Kanaya's eyes flicker with unreadable emotion. "Okay."

"Okay?" you echo, alarmed. "What does that mean? Kanaya, what is it?"

She plucks up a checker piece between her fingers and starts playing with it, probably just to give her hands something to do. "You are the textbook definition of pale for Karkat."

Your mouth falls open. She's—she's  _right,_ you know she is the instant she says it, and you're stunned. You've been thinking that what you feel for Karkat is a little beyond friendship for a long time, and now you think you finally understand why. It's strange, you think, and you keep waiting for your mind to wake up and reject the concept and tell you that you're crazy, but it just isn't happening and the longer you go the more you realize that you are  _so_ pale for Karkat it isn't even funny, even though you hardly know the definition of the word. It just feels  _right_.

"Oh," you say. "Oh, wow. What…what do I do?"

Kanaya tries to hide a smile and fails. "Well, Karkat's pale quadrant is currently empty."

Oh wow.  _Oh wow_. "So I should just…?"

"Seduce him," is Kanaya's suggestion. "You want him pale, and based on your interactions that I've observed, I believe that he also desires you in the same way."

Your head is reeling. Seduce Karkat. Like…

"How would he go about doing such a thing?" Rose asks helpfully, no doubt seeing that you're unable to ask the question yourself.

Kanaya tilts her head, answering, "Well, I would do the traditional thing—build a pile. Pick a nice, private place and just make a heap of soft things for you to lie on. It has to be large enough for two people, don't forget that!"

"And then?"

"Lure him in and show him. Tell him that you want to make sure he's okay and ask him to tell you everything about what's happened in the past week. I'm sure he'll find it romantic and go right along with you."

It sounded so easy. Was it really going to be so easy?

"John?" Kanaya asks softly. "Are you sure you can handle this? Do you need help?"

"No!" you say quickly. You're not sure why, but something tells you that this is something you need to deal with yourself. "I can handle it. Maybe I'll come back to ask a question or two, but…I really think I've got it."

"Okay, then. Just…be careful, okay? Do what feels right, but don't pressure Karkat too badly."

You nod. Then you nod again, more for yourself this time, and you get out of your chair. "Right. I can do that."

Kanaya offers you a pitying look. "Good luck."

"Yes," Rose says, "good luck. Let us know how it goes, won't you?"

You bob your head up and down mindlessly.

_I can do this._

†††

You've spent a lot of time in your respiteblock lately. After finding out about Gamzee and Terezi you just haven't had the energy or the will to really do much anything else. Mostly you just kind of lay around on your sleep slat and glare at the ceiling and let your anger churn low in your gut. You've seen Sollux a few times, you're pretty sure, but the two of you just ended up snapping at each other furiously. He told you that you needed to get over yourself and you told him to fuck off and die. He  _had_ a moirail, he didn't understand what it was like.

So, here you are. It's been a little over a week since you yelled at John and shut yourself away. You know that John is worried about you based on the amount of times he's tried to corner you and start a conversation, but you can't bring yourself to speak with him. It's probably because you're still confused about him (read: hopelessly pale and in denial) and you don't want to tear open old wounds by trying to spread your quadrant drama to a human. Fuck that, you're  _out_.

Right now you're sitting at your desk and staring at an open notebook you put there at some point in the past, probably hoping to start keeping some kind of journal or some shit. But that was past you, and past you hadn't yet realized that Gamzee was an asshole and Terezi was a manipulative bitch and John was confusing and weird, and so you'd lost all interest in writing.

You haven't tried to talk to Gamzee yet. It's been just over a week and he hasn't even noticed you're not there to bug him. He hasn't sent you a single message. Every time you think about that, your blood pusher starts aching just a little harder.

It's not that Terezi's the one he's dating. Well, okay—it's a  _little_ bit that, because you're feeling incredibly sore over the fact that he knows how you feel about her and yet he just swooped in and snatched her up—but still, you respect Terezi and know that she's entitled to her decisions, so there's not really anything you can be mad about there. Most of your anger isn't coming from that. Where it's really coming from is the fact that it's  _Gamzee._ It's Gamzee, and he didn't trust you enough to tell you that he was dating Terezi, and he's always been a bit of a shit moirail, and you're just…

You don't know what you are. Hurt, yes. Done? Well…

You can't help but feel guilty over breaking up with Gamzee. That's why you haven't done it yet. You still feel a little pale for him, you think, and it's holding you back. But you're pretty sure you're feeling something for John, too, and hasn't he been the one that's actually there for you?

You shake your head vigorously. You don't want to think about that.

On the desk, the open notebook glares up at you accusingly. There's a pen next to it with the cap off.

You don't know why it happens. One moment you're just staring, and the next moment you're picking up the pen and slamming it against the paper point-first and just holding it there as the ink bleeds through the paper. You remember what that person, the one you can't remember, told you a long time ago.

_Just keep your hand moving, and all of your true thoughts will reveal themselves. You'll start writing about how you really feel without even realizing you're doing it._

You already know your true feelings, though. You've never tried to hide them from yourself. You're a little pale for Gamzee and confused about John and frustrated with the whole situation. You  _know_  that.

…Still. You start dragging the pen across the page.  _Just keep moving,_ you remind yourself, and you let your think pan check out of the situation as you start forming letters, words, letting sentences pull themselves out of the back of your pan and spill themselves onto the paper.

You keep writing. You keep writing for what feels like hours, moving your hand up and down and left and right and just hoping that  _something_ will happen. Maybe some deep thought will etch itself into the pages, and you'll realize something profound about yourself.

Spoiler alert: it doesn't happen. When you finally stop writing and look at what you've done, all you see is a collection of mindless scribbles and sentences that make no sense. You've learned nothing about yourself other than the fact that your handwriting is shit.

You shove your head into your hands and lean your elbows on the desk, and then you just sit there in silence. You're not sure how much more of this you can take. You feel like you've been slowly rotting away on the inside, and you're finally at the point where all of your internal support beams have disintegrated into nothing. Finding out about Gamzee and Terezi has stripped you straight down to your core.

The journal is still mocking you. You snarl at the thing and rip out the soiled pages and crumple them into balls and chuck them at the closed door. The pages of the journal are white again, and the pen is still sitting there. To you, it looks like a gun.

So, that thing the human told you a long time ago was a myth. What a surprise. But still…

You take one arm away from your head and pick up the pen. Press it against the paper. Stop to think.

_Maybe…if I just try writing the words down and see how they look…how I feel about them…_

You move your hand in short, jerky motions. When you draw away, the resulting words stare up at you accusingly.

_I am not pale for Gamzee._

You look down at the words. Consider the jagged spikes of the sharper letters, the rolling curves of the smooth. Is it true? You've always thought that you were at least a little pale for Gamzee, even after the incident with Terezi. You know your own feelings. You're honest with yourself. You  _know_ you're pale for him still.

The pen feels like lead in your hand. You press it back to the paper, and this time you decide to try out something else.

_I am pale for John._

Again, you consider the words. Are  _they_  true?

_I know myself,_ you think.  _I really do. I know what I'm feeling._

You eye the words again. They mock you silently.

… _Do_ you know what you're feeling?

Slowly, you tear the page out and hold it up to your face. You tilt it from side to side, as if the way the words catch the light might help you better understand their meaning. It doesn't, though, and you end up ripping the thing to shreds and chucking the tiny, unreadable bits onto the ground at your feet.

It's time to lie down again, you decide. You'll take a nap and try to get your pan on straight, and then maybe you'll wake up and—

There's a knock at the door.

For a moment you consider just ignoring it. It's probably Sollux coming by to start another fight, and you're not in the mood. But then it sounds again, and you hear a muffled voice begging you to open up, and you know that you won't be left alone until you answer it. The voice sounds male, barely audible as it is, and you wonder who it is.

That question is unfortunately answered when you pull the door open and find yourself face to face with one of the several people you've been trying to avoid. It's John Egbert, and  _fuck_ if your blood pusher doesn't stutter with confused pale longing the moment you see him.

You were right. What you wrote on the  _paper_ was right. You are hopelessly, irreversibly pale for him. And you hate yourself for it.

"Hey," he says, waving a hand awkwardly in greeting. He looks nervous, like he's expecting you to chase him off like you've been doing for a week. And hell, you might be about to do just that.

No, scratch that—you  _are_  going to do just that. You may be pale for him, but there's no way someone as dense as John will understand. It's better that you don't take advantage of him by accepting his comfort when he doesn't realize what it's doing for you.

"Wait, wait!" John yelps as you open your mouth to tell him to go away. "Don't send me away, I really want to talk to you!"

You force yourself to glare at him. It hurts, but you manage it. "Egbert, this had better be good. What the fuck could  _possibly_  have possessed you to come to my door uninvited?"

John holds up his hands in a placating gesture, and  _goddamn._ It does things to you. Makes you want to run into his arms and let him comfort you. You would, if he understood that what he was doing was romantic.

He takes a step forward. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something here, but I just thought that you've been avoiding me lately and I wasn't sure how to fix it, so I made you something I think you'll probably like to see! Or… _maybe_  you want to see it?"

You stare. "What in the name of the mother grub are you blabbering about?"

"I made you something!" he repeats. "Or…maybe something for us? If you want! I'd never want to, um, impose."

Your curiosity is already getting the better of you. "What do you mean for  _us?_  What did you do?"

John blushes, and you know immediately that he's either done something very incredible or very foolish. You hope desperately that it's the second so you can just start hating him and get rid of these pale feelings that aren't going away.

"Just…come with me for a moment?" he requests, extending his hand to you tentatively.

You consider your options. You could throw him out now and wonder forever what he made for you, or you could go with him and suffer through whatever it is with the knowledge that maybe you can convince yourself to hate him afterwards.

It's not much of a choice.

"Fine," you mumble, brushing past and refusing to take his hand. "Hurry up."

His face lights up, and the expression makes something twinge deep in your chest. "Great! Come on, this is going to be amazing!"

John flies off down the hallway. He grabs onto your wrist before he does it, too, the idiot, so you're forced to scramble after him to avoid being dragged. It would be annoying if he weren't so sweet.

…No. No, scratch that, nope, he just banged your face into a wall as he turned too sharply.

"Sorry!" he giggles back at you as you clutch furiously at your aching jaw. "But we're almost there!"

He's dragging you into his area of the lab, you realize. It's not too far from yours, tucked off in a corner between Sollux and Vriska. He's not heading for his respiteblock, though—he's heading off in another direction, into a part of his quarters that you've never seen.

Finally, he stops in front of a closed door. He releases your wrist and turns to face you, hands behind his back like he's hiding something, a dopey grin spread across his ridiculous human face. Something warm and fuzzy gathers in your chest.

"John?" you ask roughly. Your voice is a little softer than it should be, though.

John doesn't seem to notice. He just grins wider and says, "So, hear me out on this! I've noticed that you've been really stressed out lately, and it was making me really worried about you. You've been barricading yourself up in your room all the time, and I just thought that maybe there was a way I could help you."

Oooooh no. This is sounding way too pale. John doesn't even know what he's  _doing_.

"I want to help you," John goes on. "I really do, Karkat. So I had a few conversations with Kanaya and figured some stuff out, and, well…" he gropes for the doorknob blindly. "I made this. For you. Or, us, if you want."

You're starting to get really worried. What did he  _do?_

Then John swings the door open and pushes you inside, and you realize  _exactly_ what he did.

He built a pile. For you.

It's a sizeable thing, too, heaped high with blankets and some of John's spare clothing and then even more blankets, some of them hand-knit by Rose and others patched together by what looks like a poor attempt at manipulating captchalogue codes. It looks like he spent forever on it.

Still, though, it looks nothing like what it's supposed to. It's way too spread out and doesn't have enough height, with little uneven shirt lumps here and there where John failed to spread them out properly. The human can't even build a pile properly and yet here he is, blinking at you hopefully and trying to get you to spill everything to him, and your blood pusher bleeds pale with pity. He's such a fool.

"Karkat?" John asks softly.

You don't even look at him. You just pad forward and poke at the edge of the pile, testing its strength. John packed it rather densely, at least, so it's not going to collapse. But…does he understand what this is? Does he get it? Does he know that this is a pale gesture? Surely he doesn't; he's a  _human_.

"Karkat," John repeats, and when did he get so close? He's right behind you, practically breathing down your neck. "Is this okay?"

You have to swallow hard to keep from letting out a tiny keen. He  _cares_ about you, enough to do this, and your instincts are screaming that he's a viable palemate even though intellectually you know that he can't possibly understand what he's doing to you. "You did it wrong," you manage in a low rasp, and this time you completely fail to make yourself sound angry. You just sound soft and a little shaky. "It's too shallow. Not enough height."

John clicks his fingers. "Oh,  _that's_ what's wrong with it! I thought that it looked a little different from the picture Kanaya showed me, but—"

"Kanaya showed you how to do this?" you ask, raising a brow. "Why the fuck would she do that?"

"Well…" John twiddles his fingers and tries his hardest to stare at the floor as he speaks. He can't resist looking up at you every now and again, though, his gaze warm and searching from beneath his lashes. "I was feeling some things I didn't really understand, so I went to Rose for help. Kanaya was there too, and once I explained what was going on she said that I was, um…that I was waxing pale for you. I asked her what I should do, and she helped me with this."

John is a massive idiot. This you understand. "You—you're  _pale_  for—?

"Yeah," he says shyly. "At least, that's what Kanaya said. And I think she's right! I haven't stopped worrying about you in a week, and all I want is to talk to you and make sure you're okay, and help you if you aren't, but you're not letting me close and it's really concerning!"

You pause. All this time you'd been telling yourself that John couldn't possibly understand pale romance. All humans feel like this for  _all_  of their friends. They don't understand the concept of being pale for  _only_ one person. "And…" you begin, "do you also feel this way for Dave? And Rose? And all your human friends?"

"What?" he gasps, alarmed. "No, of course not! Karkat, I don't know why, but I only feel this way about you. I care about my friends, but I don't want to cuddle them every time they scrape their knees or get into a fight with someone or have a bad day!"

Shit. You're so fucked.

"Karkat," John breathes, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall as he presses right up against you. "I won't lie, I'm not entirely sure what I'm getting myself into here. I don't know as much about it as I should. But I  _do_ know that I really care about you, and seeing you hurting over this past week has been the  _worst,_ and I think I'd do just about anything to stop you from feeling that way ever again." He reaches out for you. "So I know I'm probably not what you wanted in a moirail, but…give it a try?"

For half a second, you almost blurt out a sharp, nasty comment, because that's your most functional defense mechanism and John is really pushing you out of your comfort zone. But then you stop and look at him, see how he's watching you with his teeth nibbling at his bottom lip and his knuckles white with the force he's using to wring his hands and his eyes wide and hopeful, and you crack. You crack as wide open as that ridiculous logo Strider used to wear around on his shirt, and the next thing you know you're falling into John's arms and hooking your wrists together behind his back and shoving your cheek into his chest with all your strength. It's as good as a confession, and you feel John huff out a relieved breath against the top of your head.

"You're an idiot," you tell him, but it comes out smeared through the filter of his shirt.

He laughs. "You think so? Really?"

Your fingers wind themselves into the fabric covering his shoulders. "…No," you confess. "No, not really. But if you  _ever_ tell anyone I admitted that then I will fucking  _gut_ you like a finbeast."

Another laugh, deep and warm. It rumbles thorough you. "So…" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Care to step onto the pile? I made it extra special just for us!"

You push away from him and shuffle your way over to the thing. It's still not right, but  _John_ made it. It shows that he actually fucking cares about you, and that's a miracle that not even Gamzee would be able to wrap his pan around. "Hang on," you bite with feigned irritation. "Let me fix this a little." You don't do much, though. You push the edges a little closer together and chuck a few more blankets up onto the top to make it taller, then hop up to create a sizeable crater in the center so it's more nest-like before climbing back down. By the time you're done it looks at least halfway decent, and you turn to John and jerk your head towards it. "There—now  _that_ is what a pile is supposed to look like."

He offers you a goofy smile. "Lesson learned, Mr. Vantas, sir. I'll be sure to build a better one next time for the exam."

"Next time  _assuming_ you're not absolutely shit at this," you snap with half your usual fire. It's probably a good sign that just being around John has already taken away a little of your bite. Maybe this can work. You  _want_  this to work. You want John. "Come on, get up here."

He takes your hand when you offer it and lets you yank him up to the top, even though he could easily just fly up with his windy powers. Once he's there he peers over the edge, which isn't really that far off the ground, maybe a foot and a half, and looks at the ground as if he's standing on a mountain and staring at a thousand foot drop.

This guy. Fucking ridiculous.

John backs away from the edge and situates himself in the little crater at the top. He leans his back against one of the little sloping sides and pulls his knees loosely to his chest and balances his elbows on his knees. He looks comfortable, which is a relief. The few times you saw trolls try to drag humans onto the communal horn pile in the main room, things hadn't gone well. Humans were delicate, apparently, and even the soft, plastic edges of the horns had been enough to make Jade complain about bruising for a week. You figure that this must be better, seeing as it's made only of soft materials.

"Okay!" he says once he's situated himself. "Now I'm going to sit here, and you're going to tell me all of your feelings, and it's going to be great!"

You can't help but stare in disbelief. "You're just going to sit there and  _actually_ listen to me? No poking or antagonizing me at all?"

"Nope!" He holds up his hand as if that means anything to you. "Scout's honor."

You have no idea what that means, but you hope it's binding.

"Karkat," John presses when you don't respond. His voice is a little softer, deeper than you remember it and buzzy with something that's almost subsonic. "I'm not going to make fun of you. Tell me anything, and I'll sit here and listen."

Your blood pusher skips a beat. There's something about the way he's speaking to you that tell you he's serious about this, maybe more serious than he's ever been about anything, and immediately you trust him more than you ever had before. "I'll tell you," you manage, and then you do just that.

You tell John everything.

You tell him about your grubhood, about surviving the trials and acquiring a lusus and building a hive—you don't know why you felt the need to start here, but you do so you just go with it—and you tell him about how you lived in a place far away from everyone else because your blood would have wrecked you the second anyone caught so much of a glimpse of scarlet. You tell him about how you used to cower in your respiteblock whenever the drones flew by on their way to visit viable contributors, terrified that they'd find and destroy you, and about how you never got to really leave your hive because you would have been killed the instant a single scratch was placed upon your skin. You tell him about forming your circle of twelve friends, about splitting into two teams, about your relationship with Sollux as you entered the game and the weird thing you had going with Terezi. You tell him that you wanted her red and black at the same time, and all about how you were confused and couldn't figure out what you were doing, and how Terezi ditched you because of it. You tell him how you'd become moirails with Gamzee while you were in the game, and how he'd never really been there for you when you needed him most, and how he mostly just laid there and waited for you to be done, and how he'd never really held you the way you needed.

You tell him about Dave and how his endless attempts to pick fights with you are starting to wear you down and drive you towards maybe needing an auspice. You tell him about Gamzee and Terezi. About how you trusted Gamzee as your moirail but he didn't trust  _you,_ going behind your back and taking advantage of you by just taking your almost ex in his black quadrant and fucking  _lying_ to you about it. You tell him about how betrayed you felt when you saw them together and realized what had been going on. You tell him how you'd gone back to your block and realized that maybe Gamzee was never really your moirail, but even so how you felt a little flicker of pale left for him. You tell him about shunning everyone out of shame and misery, hiding away in your respiteblock and not eating and not sleeping and just staring at the ceiling and waiting for the time to pass and the wounds to grow just a little less severe. You tell him about your conflicted feelings for  _him,_ and how you'd suffered in pushing him away just because you'd never thought he could understand how to be pale for just one person and stay loyal to them and be everything that they needed. You tell him your fears for the future, your doubt that the meteor will make a safe landing in the new session and your concern over what will happen there and what impossible battles lay just beyond the horizon.

Then you're done, staring at him with your chest heaving and your eyes watering and your arms curled around your knees, and you can barely look at him for fear of what you'll see. Your horns ache.

You hear him draw in a deep, shaking breath. "Oh, Karkat," he whispers, and when you finally look up at him you see that he's watching you with a look so pitying that it almost breaks you in two. "You've been holding all of that in?"

You give a miserable nod.

"You could never share any of it with Gamzee?"

"No." Claws scrape up and down your legs restlessly. Up, down, up again. "He…he never really seemed to care. I think…" And here you hesitate, because you've never let yourself admit it aloud, but you  _know._ "I think that fucking  _sopor_  is more of a moirail to him than I am. I think he cares more about green slime than he does about me. Back when we were younger, he used to call me his best friend, but now…I guess the later we got into the game, the further we got into our journey here, the more he just started to realize that I wasn't worth the trouble." You draw your arms even tighter around yourself. "I failed him."

"No!" John gasps, surprising you. "No, Karkat, you didn't fail him—it's just the opposite! He failed you, letting you work yourself up into a frenzy and just  _not_   _caring_ , and that's not okay! God, you should have broken up with him ages ago!"

You haven't broken up with him yet. Not in person. But with the way things are going now, you don't think you ever will. You have a feeling you could just leave him alone forever and he'd never even notice you'd gone.

John speaks again, and he's right in front of you. When had he moved? "Karkat," he repeats, one hand shooting out to brush along your cheek. You suck in a sharp breath as he does it, and just a fraction of the tightness in your chest begins to uncoil. "Hey," he whispers, "none of it is your fault.  _None of it._  Gamzee screwed you over and Terezi lied to you, and all that crap in the game is only the fault of whatever sick being designed the game in the first place."

You lean into John's touch. His fingers are tracing up your cheekbone, up your temple, to settle at your hairline as his palm slides sweetly against your cheek. It feels good, feels good in a way you can't really remember feeling before, and you're confused. Why is it so good? Is it because you're high strung right now, or…?

John is even closer now. He's pushing into your personal space and murmuring, "It's not your fault. And if you  _ever_ start to think it is, then you come straight to me and I'll set you on track. Okay?" And then he scoots himself even closer and grabs onto your knees, pulling them apart and pushing them down so you're sitting with your legs straight out in front of you and in the perfect position for him to nestle himself comfortably in between. He's so close that you can feel his body heat through his shirt. He's warm. "Okay?" he says again.

You nod hazily. Having him so close, it's…it's  _doing_ something to you, twisting something around in your think pan and sending a happy, buzzing sensation out to your extremities.  _Safe,_ something whispers from deep within.  _He's safe. You're safe with him._  It's a soft voice, low and lulling, and you suddenly want nothing more than to wrap your arms around John and curl up in his lap like a purrbeast, and you're still a little confused. Your horns still ache and your pan is still throbbing a little from your story.

John presses forward until your back hits the side of the pile and then he's practically sitting on your thighs and leaning over you, fingertips resting at your shoulders. He looks a little confused himself, and of  _course_ he does because he's new to this whole pale thing, but he's doing a fucking  _amazing_ job of it already and it only gets better when he takes his hands off of your shoulders and moves them to your face and pats at your cheeks with a soft shushing sound that immediately sparks something warm and floaty low in your gut.

This is  _different._ You never felt like this when you were with Gamzee. It's just…it's  _just,_ and there are no words to describe what you're feeling as John rubs gentle circles into your cheekbones and stares down at you in wonderment as you start making this low, raspy rumble low in your throat.

"Karkat?" he whispers. "Is this okay?"

You chitter at him in response, then blink in puzzlement as you realize that you've never made that sound before. "Y-yeah," you manage through another chirping click. "Yeah, this is…this is good, this is just…"

John beams at you and snuggles up as close as he can without hindering the movement of his hands. You feel so  _relaxed._ John is rubbing all of the tension out through these light, teasing kisses of fingertips to flesh, and the longer he sits there with you the more the conflict drains out of your muscles and vanishes through the floor, and the more you start to really lean into it.

_I've been doing pale romance wrong,_ you realize all at once, the instant John leans down and brushes his lips to your cheek. It's a soft, tentative gesture, as if he's expecting you to pull away, but the instant he makes contact that rumbling noise in your throat grows louder and you realize that you're  _purring._ You're purring like a goddamn purrbeast, leaning up into John's hands and rubbing your face into the contact and just lying limp beneath him, and you've never felt better. This is your new favorite thing, you decide.

"Oh, wow," John breathes out as your purring kicks up a notch. He takes to you as if he's discovered some new secret, pressing his lips back against your cheek with hardly any force before moving to your temples, then sliding up to your forehead and down to kiss the tip of your noise, to slide across your chin and barely, just  _barely_ glance across the corner of your mouth. His fingers keep moving all the while, continuing their steady smoothing over the creases between your eyebrows and the curves of your cheekbones. He looks like he's just discovered the greatest thing ever, and he  _has._ This is the greatest thing ever. Nothing else could ever top this.

Then you feel his hands slide higher into your hair, and you only jolt a little when you feel him thumbing around the bases of your horns. That's  _such_ a pale gesture, reaching for what's essentially an off button for trolls to help you calm down (because there's still tension there, still a little nervousness written in the lines of your body that you aren't sure will ever go away for even a moment), and your purring gets so loud you think you might just explode from the force of the vibrations. You raise your hands shakily and rest them on John's sides in an attempt to ground yourself as the human starts in on giving your horns the same treatment he'd been giving your face a few moments prior.

He does it perfectly. There's none of that desperate groping that's so common for matesprits when they're dealing with a partner's horns, and none of that domineering forcefulness that comes with a black encounter. Instead John just  _touches,_ just smooths his fingers over the bases and strokes up to the tops and just squeezes a little as he maps them out, and you have a hard time keeping your hands where they are. As it is, your head falls back against the edge of the pile completely and you almost melt into putty then and there.

In a sudden moment of realization, you blurt out, "I'm pale for you." Except the words are slurred and raspy with purrs and tiny chirps, and John laughs warmly.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I'm pretty sure I'm pale for you too, Karkat. At least, think that's why this feels so good—oh!"

That last bit was because you just slid your hands up under his shirt. You're just touching lightly, just hooking your arms around his back and drawing him close because every inch of you is screaming  _more_ contact,  _more_ skin on skin, and you can feel the tension in the back of your pan building to its inevitable snap. He's working you there slowly, and soon you think you'll just be a boneless mess without a care in the world. Gamzee; who's that? All you can think about is John.

John leans low and replaces his hands with his lips as he slides down and grabs at the hem of your shirt just long enough to ruck it up to your armpits. He seems to be feeling the same thing you are, which is a relief, because he wastes no time in pressing himself right up against you and shoving his chin down in the space in between your horns and just drawing you in until you feel like you're about to snap. His fingertips are moving over your chest in soft, exploratory movements that ease the knots in the back of your think pan that have been building up for sweeps.

You love him, you realize. You're so pale it hurts, and until now you've never known what that  _means._

"Karkat," John whispers, and he repeats it again reverently as he snuggles close and presses as much of his body as he can right up against you. He's practically babbling, but that's okay because you're still purring like an idiot and everything just feels so  _warm,_ so distant and so comforting and so real, and you feel the safest you've ever been with this scrawny little human wrapping himself around you like a blanket and rasping reassurances in your ear.

Then, just like that, the final knots of tension unwind and you're boneless beneath him. You're floating. Free. And based on the way John has gone limp above you, just pressing to you without purpose, you guess he's finding just as much comfort in the situation. You feel him smile where his face is smushed into your hair.

_You're a good moirail,_ you think at John, even though your lips won't cooperate and you're still purring and limp and relaxed as if you've just received a full body massage.  _You're going to be even better once I teach you a few things._

John mumbles something that barely makes it to the surface. "C'mon, Kar, my bed is—"

"No," you mumble in protest, a little of the tension returning at the prospect of leaving the pile. "Just… _here."_

John blinks at you blearily. "Here?"

You nod.

He hesitates only a moment longer before shrugging and reaching up to pat your cheek, and all the tension bleeds right back out of you. Your little chirrs and rasping breaths kick right back up to their former intensity.

That's how you fall asleep, with John huddled up to your side and using your hair as a pillow, one hand under your shirt and the other thumbing across your hornbeds, with you sprawled out under him with both your hands pinned against his stomach. For the first time in your entre life you feel like you don't have to worry about anything. John is going to keep you safe, is going to make sure that no one will ever touch you ever again, and the thought just makes a long, chittering buzz rise up from the depths of your throat to float hazily through the warm air. You've never felt like this ever, and you want it to happen every day for the rest of your life.

You're happy. You've never been happier.

†††

You wake up back in your respiteblock, which is a huge, jolting shock for you seeing as you remember falling asleep in your moirail's arms. You should be in his pile, not on your sleep slat—but here you are, stretched out over the flat cushion and staring at the ceiling in befuddlement. Where is John? You can't feel him beside you.

Did he…get scared? Run off?

Then you hear a thump to your left, turn your head, and realize that you're an idiot and John is right there in the room with you. He's already up, and he's…sorting through your laundry?

_What the fuck?_

No, wait—upon closer inspection, he's gathered up all the things that you'd used in your old pile, and he's sifting through them and tossing them into different heaps. As you watch, he holds up one of your old shirts, snarls at it, and throws it into a heap of clothing that's presumably meant to be washed when he's done.

"John?" you rasp. Your voice is low and halting due to all the purring from the previous night, and it shows.

John looks up immediately once he hears you. "Karkat!" he exclaims, dropping the blanket he'd been inspecting in favor of practically tackling you back down to the sleep slat and suffocating you with little kisses pressed to your cheeks and forehead. A little of that fuzzy feeling from last night settles low in your stomach. "You're awake! Did you sleep well?"

You give a mute nod and hook your claws into John's shirt just to get him closer. You feel so  _calm._

"Oh, that's great!" John leans back and shoots you dopey grin. "In that case, you can help me."

"What're you doing?" you half slur.

"Cleaning up. Your room is a  _mess._ Honestly, I can't believe you  _lived_ in the middle of all this crap!"

It  _had_  gotten pretty messy, seeing as you'd never bothered to clean up after wrecking your old pile. You just hadn't wanted to touch any of it.

"Here, look," John says. He pulls away and lowers himself back to the ground, where he snatches up a blanket and examines it. He seems to deem it clean enough, because it gets thrown into the pile of acceptable materials. "Just pick something up, look it over, and decide it if needs to get washed, vaporized, or returned to the pile. See? Like this." He grabs a shirt and holds it up; it's one of Gamzee's. "This one needs to be completely obliterated, so I fling it over there." He chucks it over his shoulder and it lands in a heap of Gamzee's clothing that you'd snatched up for your pile at one point or another. Now you know it's inappropriate to keep it.

Oh, fuck— _Gamzee._ You'd never even sent him a message letting him know things were over between the two of you. You really need to—

"I took care of Gamzee for you," John says, as if reading your thoughts.

You freeze. "What?"

He repeats, "I took care of Gamzee. I didn't want you to have to speak with him ever again, so I just went over there this morning while you slept and had a nice long conversation with him."

The image of John chastising Gamzee pops into your think pan and you nearly break out in hysterical laughter. "What the fuck did you  _say?"_

"Oh, just human stuff that you say when someone treats your partner poorly. I told him he was an idiot for how he treated you, that he should be ashamed, that I'd tear him apart if he ever dared lay a hand on you again…that kind of stuff!"

Oh dear god, John Egbert actually went gallivanting off to your former moirail and lectured th shit out of him. You pity him  _so_  much right now.

"He seemed kind of…distracted, maybe?" John goes on, head tilted just slightly as he examines one of your old shirts. "A little loopy, but I think he got the message."

You smile. You can't help it. It's as if being around John has just unhooked the muscles that help you pull your features into a frown, or a snarl, or anything other than a stupid little grin, and you're so blissed out from the previous night that you can't bring yourself to fight it. "You're the best moirail," you tell John, and he beams at you. "The  _best_. But don't let it go to your head, because I will fucking  _end_ you if you start acting smug!"

John just throws his head back and laughs. "Yeah right! Now come up, get up and help me with this!"

You make a show of dragging yourself out of bed to kneel beside him, where now he's squinting at a stain on one of the blankets. He makes a face and tosses it into the dirty pile, and you say, "I guess cleaning one room isn't all that bad."

" _One_  room?" John turns to you, a dangerous glint in his eyes, and immediately your life flashes before your eyes. "Karkat Vantas, your  _entire_ area of the lab is a complete wreck! You and I are starting here, and then we're going to go through and clean  _every single room_ until we're done."

Your eyes go wide. "What? But John—!"

"No buts!" he says, jabbing his finger into your chest. "You're a mess! I'm your moirail now, and I will  _not_ allow you to live in a giant heap of garbage. Now come on, up! We've done enough work in here for now, we're going to get started on the bathroom."

"But your room is a mess too!" you protest. "You're such a hypocrite, you—"

John cuts you off  _again,_ dragging you up and tugging you forward. "I'm not the one we're worrying about right now. We're going to stay here until your section of the lab is  _spotless_ , young man!"

You've created a monster.

John giggles at your stunned expression and loops one of your arms around his waist. He's nestled right up against your side, pressing against you and shooting you this bright smile that practically sears your retinas, and as you stare up at him he whispers, "Don't worry, Karkat—after we're done we can build a nice pile right here in your room, and then I can make sure all your stress just…melts away!" He leans in and pecks you on the cheek. "Do we have a deal?"

Yeah, you've created a monster.

But…you don't think you'd have it any other way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was a productive use of a few hours! I've always loved the concept pale romance (or at least I've loved it since I first read about it a few years ago), and for some reason my mind just latched onto Karkat and John as moirails. It's funny, since in canon I think it's pretty obvious that Kanaya would end up being Karkat's moirail, but...meh. When has canon ever meant that something can't happen in fanfiction? 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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